


Stain

by silver_blacker



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Deception, F/M, Jealousy, Manipulation, Pseudo-Incest, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 06:30:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2299808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_blacker/pseuds/silver_blacker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petyr is bringing Sansa along to a work-related meeting over the weekend, and Sansa is not very happy about it. Rated Mature for language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stain

**Author's Note:**

> My advance apology here because the ending may seem a bit rushed. Three months ago I got frustrated midway while writing and abandoned the fic. Recently got back into it but I wanted to finish it so badly that I practically rushed over the rest. 
> 
> **Please note that Lysa Arryn, in this world, is not a Tully, and is in no way related to Catelyn Tully. **

Sansa rolls down the window and lets in the fresh air of the Surrey countryside. She rests her elbow on the window, her long and soft red hair waving in the cool summer wind. Villages go past them in a blur as the car races through the narrow country road. It is rare to see a glimpse of green in London, and green is all she could see now. The tall trees, the little houses, the unhostile faces of the Southern English people, are all a strange sight, and utmost hypocritical. 

 

"Must we go?" Sansa turns her head around and asks, failing to hide away the annoyance in her tone. "Do you have to do this now?"

 

"We've talked about this." Petyr says, his voice nearly muffled over the sound of the wind. He shoots her a glance before fixing his gaze on the road ahead again. "I have to be there when they sign the contract. It shouldn't take long. Tomorrow we will meet the tenant, sign the paper, hand over the key, and be back in London again for dinner. It's just one night at the country house. It'll be quick, I promise."

 

"Can't you just ask one of your co-workers to do this for you?" Sansa closes the window and crosses her arms. 

 

"Oh, you and I both know better than to trust any one of them, sweetling."

 

"Yeah, I know." She pouts, and puts her legs on the dashboard, which is explicitly forbidden in this car. "But it's my reading week."

 

Petyr slams on the breaks and the car comes to a halt. He pulls the handbrake up, and lets out an irritated sigh. 

 

"Must we go through this again?" He stares at her with a half glare between his eyes, his knuckles whitening on the wheel. "Feet. Off. Now."

 

Sansa tabs her boots on the dashboard, enjoying the look of mild rage on his face. She smiles at him, defyingly, as he creases his brows and twitches his lips.

 

He breaks.

 

"For god's sake, could you please for once--"

 

"There is a line behind." She calmly says, still tabbing her feet. "You wouldn't want to cause a congestion now would you?"

 

Petyr squints at the rear-view mirror. There are two cars behind them, both honking and the drivers sticking their heads out their windows cursing at them. 

 

"Don't think this is over, young lady." Petyr puts the car back into motion and says, his tone soft, and  _dangerous._  


Sansa slides her feet back down. "I don't want to be here." She says under her breath, deflated, her voice sounding like a whimper.

 

"Listen, I don't want to be here as much as you don't." He stretches out his left arm and holds her hand. She hesitates for a second before intertwining his fingers with hers and leaning her head on his shoulder. "I know you've said it's your university reading week and you have you whole weekend all cleared out. Hey, I appreciate that, alright?" He gives her hand a little squeeze. Receiving no response from her he gives in and sighs again. "We both have had a long day. How about we go and find someplace nice and have a cup of coffee. What'd you think?" 

She pushes her arm away and leans against the window. She shrugs, and closes her eyes, shutting the world outside along with Petyr.

 

"Suit yourself." He says.

 

She can't tell if he is angry. 

 

After so long the car takes a quick turn and stops. Sansa sits back up and rubs her eyes. 

 

Petyr removes his seat belt in a click and turns to her, his tone slightly worried, "Y'alright there?"

 

"Yeah." Sansa replies. She looks out the window and sees a small cafe across the road. "Just a bit tired." She yawns. "I need a cuppa." She takes off her seat belt and exits the car in a swift. The sky is in a pretty mix of blue and pink decorated with cotton-like clouds. She stretches her arms and breathes in deeply. She hates any long car rides. They make her uncomfortable, like she is trapped, unable to escape. Although she is not especially fond of the countryside she is still glad she could finally breathe freely of its raw fresh air without capturing that of the cigarette-stained scent in Petyr's car. Speaking of which, she turns her neck around and catches him lighting up a fag between his fingers as he locks the car.

 

"Must you?" She asks grumpily. Smoking is a vice of his that she loathes.

 

He inhales the cigarette then tosses the butt onto the ground. He blows out a wisp of smoke and smiles. "Anything for you, my lady."

 

Sansa rolls her eyes and makes her way towards the cafe.

 

The place is half empty, with only a few small groups of people quietly drinking their drinks while reading the evening newspaper. The shopkeeper looks lifeless and bored, his back leaning against the dessert counter with both of his ears plugged in as his head rocks slowly at the beat of the music. 

 

Sansa sits down at a table for two as Petyr, who is chewing the usual minty gum in his mouth, goes to deal with the cashier. He soon returns with the order. She has a cup of tea, adding two sugars as always, and he has a coffee, black and bitter. After taking a sip and placing the hot cup on the table she pulls her phone out from her pocket and begins checking her texts, unwilling to have any interaction with him. The silence between them is suffocating, but she would rather leave it hanging. She is not mad at him, she thinks, just frustrated. Petyr is sitting across the table, glancing out the glass window watching as cars go by, sipping his coffee from time to time. It is not his fault that they are here, she understands that. And now she would like to let him know that she is not blaming him. So as the awkwardness grows, she peeks out from behind her screen and watches him with a soft gaze.

 

"Hey." She tests, her hand reaching out to him as she tabs her fingers on the table.

 

Petyr takes another sip of his coffee, his eyes still set on the view outside. 

 

Her hand on the table tightens into a fist. "Need the loo." She says between her teeth. She puts down her phone and stands, resisting the urge to slap him

 

Petyr shoots her a quick glance then returns to his window watching, as if there is something so interesting in the country that he could not keep his eyes off it. Sansa frowns at him, but knows he is only choosing to appear carefree to infuriate her. She shouldn't let him succeed, but his little trick is working, and she could feel her blood boiling in displease and the urge to yell at his face expanding within her chest. But she is better than that. Sansa turns her body abruptly and moves towards the bathroom. A few paces made and she bumps into a person.

 

The feeling of chocolate milkshake on her skin is disgusting. Sansa yelps and jumps away, but it is already too late as there is milkshake all over her shorts and thighs. Sansa wants to curse, but holds her tongue when she sees the little boy holding the cup standing there in shock. There in his tiny hands is a toy warrior. The boy reminds her of Rickon. 

 

"Mom!" The boy yells, with tears start dripping down his cheeks. He clutches onto the cup as his whole body shakes. 

 

Sansa immediately feels guilty for knocking over his drink. She could sense the intrigued gaze of everyone in the cafe on her, including Petyr's amused one. She squats down and musses with the boy's dark hair, and pulls out her soothing voice. "That's alright. We could get you another one." 

 

"Oh my, Robin!" Sansa looks up and sees a chubby and round-faced woman rushing towards them. Her voice is sharp and her posh Surrey accent sounds like singing. She puts her hands on the boy's shoulders protectively and nods at Sansa apologetically. "I am so sorry, miss. Robin, what should you say?" 

 

"I... I'm sorry." Robin bows his head and sobs. 

 

"It's alright. It's just milkshake, should wash off pretty easily." Sansa stands back up. 

 

The lady holds the boy's hand in hers and smiles at Sansa. "Our Robin is always clumsy. Isn't that right, Robin?" 

 

"Yeah." Robin rubs his nose and squeezes out a shy smile. 

 

"I am sorry for your clothes. The least that we could do now is to pay for your bill. Where are you sitting at?" 

 

"Just around there." Sansa points at their table. Petyr raises an eyebrow at her with his lips curved up into a mischievous grin. He is enjoying this, she knows. All sorts of chaos fascinate him. "But no, it won't be necessary. It's not a big deal, really." Sansa says as she starts backing down.

 

"This must be your father. You have an awfully well-mannered daughter there, mister." The lady runs to greet Petyr and shake his hand. 

 

"I am Petyr." His smile on his face grows wide. "And that is Sansa."

 

  
_He didn't correct her_ , Sansa widens her eyes in confusion as she sits back down on her chair, the cold liquid on her thighs still sticky and uncomfortable,  _why didn't he correct her_?

 

"Lysa." The woman says enthusiastically. She pats on the little boy's shoulders, who is too embarrassed to look anyone in the eyes. "And this is my little Robin, the troublemaker." She kindly smiles at her son. She looks back up at Sansa as if she has forgotten about her entire existence. "Oh sorry, Sansa sweetie. Let me fetch you some napkins." 

 

  
_Don't fucking call me sweetie._  "We have some right here, but thank you." The strange coldness she suddenly feels towards the new acquaintance is almost obvious in her tone. Sansa pulls out some tissues from the tissue box and starts wiping her legs. She bows her head, as if she is concentrating on her task, but her mind has drifted away to the exchange of words between Petyr and Lysa. 

 

"So Petyr, Petyr isn't it?" The woman can't seem to stop talking. "We would like to pay for your bill, if you don't mind, for causing all the trouble." 

 

All the mindless wiping has dried off the liquid, but it has also caused a horrible smudge on her shorts. The stain grows larger as Sansa continues to focus her attention elsewhere. 

 

"Why don't you join us, Lysa?" Petyr cheerfully asks. Sansa quickly lifts up her head and stares at him. He has his head tilted and is smiling his charming smile at the woman. He reaches out and touches her thick arm. "We could use some company here." His tone is almost alluring.

 

The woman blushes, and for once she is speechless. 

 

Sansa stops her wiping and glares at Petyr.  _What the fuck?_  He refuses to return her gaze.  

 

Lysa seems to have lost her tongue. Sansa has decided she doesn't like the woman, not one bit. Her red and plumb cheeks annoy her, and her Surrey accent is as sharp as the screeching of chalks on a blackboard. Everything about the woman repels Sansa, but Petyr doesn't seem to mind as he helps his new friend up and walks her to a larger table. 

 

"Sansa sweetling." Petyr waves his hand at her and signals her to come over. 

 

Sansa curses in her mind and kicks away her chair. She moves to the four-seats table, rather unwillingly, and takes a seat next to Petyr, with Lysa and her child sitting across them. 

 

"So," Petyr sips his coffee. "Lysa. That's a lovely name." Sansa wants to scream. "Or should I say Mrs..." 

 

"Lysa is fine." The woman instantly replies, her reaction too eager in Sansa's eyes. "The late Mr Arryn, god rest his soul, passed away years ago, so I am just Lysa now." 

 

  
_Oh my god no one gives a bloody damn about your bloody husband_ , Sansa thinks angrily. She wishes to shield herself from behind her phone, hiding away from the sight of the obnoxious woman and her little wimpy kid. But she couldn't, because that would be impudent. She glimpses Robin Arryn busy sucking through the straw of his newly ordered beverage while twisting the limbs of his toy with his chubby fingers, oblivious of whatever is happening between his mom and a complete stranger. Sansa envies him.

 

"Lysa is a lovely name." Petyr chuckles, and rubs his stubbly chin. "So, Lysa, are you from around town?"

 

_Why don't you ask for her passport number as well wanker._

"I am, yes, born and raised in Guildford. But Robin here," Lysa lovingly pinches the cheek of her son who has just decided to tear off a limb from his toy. Sansa frowns at him as he waves around the severed part happily with a crooked smile on his face. He is nothing like her mild and gentle Rickon after all. "Robin was born in Ireland where his father was from. We were going to settle in Dublin, but afterwards I brought him back here where the family is."

 

Petyr knowingly nods. "Surrey is a wonderful place to raise a child. In fact, I am from around as well, Godalming, actually." 

 

Sansa could almost not believe her ears. Petyr Baelish is revealing a piece of information of himself to a woman he just met. Sansa remembers when she first knew him there were no words but lies coming from his mouth. He had played his cards of deception well, so well that she went through three weeks thinking his name was Aidan. What makes this Arryn woman whom he has treated with honesty more trustworthy than she is?  

 

Lysa says something, to which Petyr responds with a chuckle and a short comment. But Sansa is not listening. There is a static noise in her head that makes her feel nauseous and tired. 

 

".... so what do you do for a living?" 

 

Sansa quickly lifts her head and looks at Petyr. One of his brows is slightly raised, the gesture so subtle no one but her would notice. 

 

  
_Go on, tell her,_  Sansa smugly smiles when she caught him glancing at her.

 

"Well, Lysa." Petyr starts tabbing the handle of his coffee cup with his thumb, his gaze on his lady friend lazy and unguarded. "I work in London, in the service industry." 

 

  
_Service_ , Sansa holds in a burst of laughter. That word barely describes what Petyr really does. 

 

"What service do you provide?" Lysa seems unsatisfied with his answer as she pushes for more. 

 

"I don't do all the work, Lysa. My subordinates do." Petyr smiles with his mouth. "But I wouldn't want to bore you with all those commercial details." 

 

"Oh not in a million year." Lysa waves her hand around like a hyperactive teenage girl. "Nothing you say would ever be boring."

 

_That's too much, really too much._

"Very well, Lysa. But please understand it is uncommon for me to meet with someone who holds a highly intellectual mind as my own. Most people would have found my talk about my career tedious and, well, it seems like you are one of a kind." 

 

Sansa could tell the woman is falling right into Petyr's snare of flattery: her face goes red, her grin growing so wide Sansa swears her cheeks must have hurt. 

 

"I run a business in central London, providing different companies with a special service called claudication management, which would assist them in submitting their monthly report of their haligraph to the Global Board of Scorage Accubation, the GBSA, which I am sure you have heard of. My service, if executed correctly, should prevent these companies from receiving a manuduction from the board, since the consequences of any misconduct could be devastating. In fact, it was just last year when that Chinese company, whose name I couldn't recall but you must know what I am talking about, received a manuduction and went bankrupted overnight. It was all over the news. Tragic, really, to get punished for a mistake that is actually not inevitable. I guess humans often dig their own graves." Petyr slowly shakes his head in dismay. "What are your thoughts on this, Lysa?" 

 

Lysa is not supposed to have any thought on anything. What Petyr just delivered were lines and lines of meaningless words.  _Well-played_ , Sansa can't help but to compliment Petyr on his mastered skill of dissimulation, even forgetting about their unhappy little incident for a quick second. Although it was obvious to anyone that what Petyr had said actually made no sense at all, it is in the nature of human to find agreeing on and pretending to understand a misconception more preferable than to raising questions regarding the statement and hence risking the possibility of exposing their own ignorance. 

  
_Very well-played indeed_. 

 

Lysa nods with her brows furrowed, as if she has been in deep contemplation. "Yes, yes, very tragic. That Chinese company was doing so well before. If they have done something differently they would have been in a much better place." 

 

Sansa's lips curve up in a cruel satisfaction.

 

She has had enough fun making a laugh out of this ridiculous pair of mother and son, and she determines Petyr has had enough of it as well. "I feel like going." She lazily proclaims. 

 

Lysa turns to look at her, her blue eyes widen in surprise as if she has declared herself the Queen of England. 

 

"I...  I am not feeling very well." Sansa explains and shoots Lysa a weak and apologetic smile. She holds on to Petyr's arm and lays her head on his shoulder. She could feel his arm muscle tensing up for a split second before relaxing, his hand now resting gently on her knee. "All the traveling has made my stomach sick. I could really do well with a hot shower and a bed right now." Petyr's hand is slowing sliding up her thigh.

 

Lysa, unaware of the movement under the table, smiles warmly at Sansa and says, her voice soft and motherly, "Oh of course honey. Please, go as you wish. Robin and I have been keeping you and your father here for far too long." 

 

Sansa stands and pulls Petyr up. 

 

"I would love to have a longer chat but it seems Sansa is really feeling unwell." Petyr says as he reaches to grab the bill on the table, but Lysa has had it beneath her palm. 

 

"This got to be on us, please." The mother pleas. 

 

Sansa cannot care less about who pays and who doesn't. She drags Petyr across the cafe and towards the exit. As Petyr holds out the door for her Sansa stops and looks back at Lysa and her son. 

 

"Hey!" Sansa yells across the shop. The two lift up their heads at her. The whole cafe suddenly falls into a silence. 

 

Sansa abruptly grips Petyr's collar and pulls him to her. She hungrily kisses him as she forcefully opens his lips with his. Petyr freezes at first, but his hand quickly reaches over to the back of her head for support, his fingers tugging her auburn hair lightly. His mouth tasted of the bitterness of coffee with a trace of mint.  

 

As Petyr's hand begins exploring down her lower back Sansa squeezes open her eyes, spotting the Arryns sitting at their corner in a state of shock. The lady Arryn has her hands covering her mouth with her eyes widen in horror as the young boy frowns in confusion. Sansa could almost hear her train of thought crashing and getting wrecked inside her head accompanied by the gasping of the other customers. Nothing has ever been as satisfying. Sansa smiles against Petyr's lips. 

 

After so long Petyr breaks off the kiss and stares at her, all flushed, his usually smart eyes glinting in desire. "Let's get out of here, yeah?"

 

He holds on to her hand tightly and pushes through the glass door, casting the cafe behind them. 

 

"You dirty little bird, we'd need to get you out of your stained clothes now wouldn't we?" He whispers into her ear as they walk towards the car.

 

Sansa is starting to think maybe a night at the country house isn't so bad after all. 


End file.
